


The Hardest Part of Living

by lululawlawlu



Series: lawlu post-apocalyptic au [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Blood, Cybernetics, Humor, Lawlu Big Bang, Luffy being Luffy just set in a nuclear wasteland, M/M, Minor suicidal ideation, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-10-30 10:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lululawlawlu/pseuds/lululawlawlu
Summary: Law knows he’s been cursed from the start—born with half a lifespan and not much reason to value it. Thanks to the valiant efforts of his ancestors, humans have survived nuclear annihilation—humans, not necessarily humanity.The day he meets Luffy could turn Law’s life around. Luffy has a secret that could be the key to saving him, but neither he nor Luffy know it yet.





	1. It’s hard to depart from this life when there’s no exit.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for the LawLu Bang 2018-2019, sponsored by lawlu-events.tumblr.com  
> Mushroom-san (mushroom-san.tumblr.com) created  
> [this super cute and sweet artwork as a companion piece to part 1!!](https://lawlu-events.tumblr.com/post/182871740523/this-illustration-by-mushroom-san-for-the-lawlu)
> 
> Thanks to MarieMicheals for being my beta and giving me great advice and helping me come up with ideas!  
>   
> Thanks to Shishiswordsman for helping me brainstorm heaps & generate some super ideas for this story too~

Law wrenches open one side of the rusty metal medicine cabinet, grainy orange rust particles powdering his fingers. His eyes skim over the contents—old medicine bottles, a safety razor, and a lighter. 

His eyes study his face in the rust-mottled mirror on the closed side of the cabinet. He runs a hand over his stubbly, two-toned face, contemplating a shave. Well, he doesn’t have anyone to impress. There isn’t too much chance that he’ll run into anyone worthwhile in the near future either, but what’s the point in being a survivor in a post apocalyptic desert wasteland if he can’t go about taking as he pleases and looking damn good while doing it. At the very least, making an effort to look decent helps him feel a little less like he’s falling apart from the inside out. 

His aching fingers absentmindedly wander to his cheek to scratch at the itching patch of white that’s blossomed there, flaking off the irritating blanched skin, leaving a burning sensation beneath his fingertips. Attempting a shave is likely a bad idea—he’d probably just end up peeling off half of his face in the process. This dying slowly shit is so goddamn annoying. 

He pockets the lighter anyway. It could be useful. He takes up one of the long cylindrical medicine bottles—prescription pain medication, opioids long past their expiration date. He should probably keep those too because why the hell not. If they’re still potent, they might help his chronic aches and addictive though they may be, he isn’t planning on living long enough for that to take effect. At twenty-six he’s already well outlived nearly everyone he’s ever known. 

Struggling with terminal illness isn't exactly Law's ideal way to live. It’s excruciatingly painful, sure but more than anything, it’s annoying as fuck. What good is being stuck in some cruel joke of a life which keeps him half-alive, while he can practically feel himself rotting away like a goddamn zombie.

Law knows he’s been cursed from the start—born with half a lifespan and not much reason to value it. Thanks to the valiant efforts of his ancestors, humans have survived nuclear holocaust—humans, not necessarily humanity. 

He tries twice to get the lid off of the pills before he realizes he’s meant to push down as he turns the lid. He’s already scraped his fingers along the ridges of the cap, lost his skin in the process. The pad of his thumb aches; the soft skin on the side of his forefinger gone hot like it’s on fire, protesting the strain of everyday activity. He places the bottle on the cracked marble countertop next to the sink, leaning into it. A grunt of frustration, a little extra leverage, and losing another layer of skin seems to be just what it takes to finally pop the top—nothing like a little extra pain to help him remember just how much he could use some relief before he meets his inevitable death. 

He wouldn’t put it past his dick-bag ancestors to have set him up to die like this. They'd probably consider his poor life tragic and beautiful. They were the same people who made death so romanticized in their movies. If those ancient movies are any indication of how people actually thought back then, with their tragedy and self-sacrifice worship, it's no wonder the world has turned out to be a hollow, burned-out shell of what it once was. Hell, he's sure revering such shallow ideals is what got his community in the bunker wiped off the face of the Earth. 

Law shakes the bottle lightly, assessing its contents—a handful of chalky little pills. He tips two of them out into his hand where they camouflage themselves against the splotch of white on his palm, similar even in texture. Both look so pale and lifeless. He contemplates dumping the rest into his mouth. There’s a temptation just to hurry things along and end it all before he ends up bedridden, crippled with pain, wasting away because he hasn’t got the strength even to feed himself. But he’s promised he wouldn’t. 

Law is sure he isn't going to have a beautiful or meaningful Hollywood-esque death that would serve to inspire anyone. He sure as hell isn't going to come up with some ‘touching’ last words. He imagines his last words will be something like "Aw, fuck," although even a line like that might be too contrived. At least he has plenty of time to think of something better. On second thought, maybe he would actually try giving that flowery last-words bullshit a shot after all, just for the sake of irony. Dying a slow, painful death might not be without it's merits after all.

It’s not that Law actually wants to languish in pain, waiting for death to come around. He would much rather get it over and done with. He would've even tried to put a bullet in his own brain by now, but lack of ammunition and a naïve promise that he’ll find a cure are the only things holding him back. Poisoning so bad it’s seeped into the core of his DNA structure doesn’t really seem like something he can cure, but in retrospect, how could he have refused his little sister’s dying wish for him to keep going. At least she’ll never know he can’t make it a reality. 

“Hey, you in the bathroom, You want something to eat?” calls a voice from the other side of the wall, muffled by layers of cracked plaster and rotting drywall. 

Law nearly jumps out of his skin—practically tosses the painkillers across the room. He thought he was alone in this abandoned house, if that’s what you’d call it because a half-torched, roofless structure with two of its external walls missing doesn’t really seem like one anymore. He’d checked for any signs of a possible resident when he came in. He’s usually extremely cautious about such things. It wouldn’t take much more than a five-year-old with a stick to take down his weak ass, and he knows that out here in this wasteland there’s likely to be much worse. Still, he’d checked every room top-to-bottom when he’d arrived and hadn’t heard anyone else come in, so who the hell-

“I’m Luffy, by the way.”

Ok, so Luffy, apparently.

“Who are you?” Luffy speaks again, closer this time, as if a breath’s width away from the door. 

Law has no time at all to think before the door is shoved aside and he finds a small, opened tin of ham thrust into his hand. The scrawny guy who’s given it to him casually kicks down the toilet lid, taking a seat backward over the toilet. He releases an armful of provisions, presumably for himself, onto the tank of the toilet like it’s perfectly normal to use a toilet as a makeshift table and chair.

“Cheers!” he cries, clinking a tin of ham against Law’s own. He shoots Law a wide, toothy grin and tosses his head back, shaking the tin over his mouth until the ham slides out with a sick, sucking sound. Pale pink jelly-like substance drips from the can onto his face. It runs down his cheek mimicking the line of a thin scar etched under his left eye. 

Law eyes the tin of meat in his own hand. This could be some sort of trap. This person could be an organ trafficker or something. Well, it’s not like Law has a lot to live for anyway, although being murdered by a stranger isn’t really how he wants to go. For a guy who wants to get it over with, he sure is being picky about death. 

The mass of ham he’s been given does look a thousand times more interesting than the dried-out, flavourless rations he’s recently had the pleasure of surviving on. Its pinkish hue and marbling is indicative of actual meat, if ancient movies are to be believed. He wouldn’t know from personal experience, but the smell of it—that _can’t_ be normal. It smells awful, pungent, somewhat sulfuric—like farts. And if humans of the past voluntarily ate things that stank like intestinal expulsions, they were a lot more messed up than Law gave them credit for. 

“Good shit, yeah?” Luffy says, eyebrows raised, beaming up at him from his spot on the toilet lid. Maybe this guy is more messed up than Law gives _him_ credit for. He doesn’t even seem to care about the look of the tinned meat or its flatulent odors. Law watches him toss back a third can. 

The scent alone is starting to make Law’s stomach turn. He cautiously leans in to place his can of ham on the back of the toilet. 

“You never told me your name,” Luffy notes, reaching for the new addition to his personal buffet. He passes Law a long, vacuum-sealed packet of crackers instead. Now this is food he can eat. 

“I’m Law Trafalgar,” he says. The plastic along the perforated line twists around Law’s fingers but doesn’t tear open.

“You from the underground? Your name sounds weird like underground people.” Luffy muses.

“I’m from a PPU if that’s what you mean.” Law turns the packet over, attempting to rip it open from the other side. 

“What’s a PPU?” Luffy asks around a mouthful of ham. He takes the packet from Law, breaking off the corner of the crackers as he rips it open. 

“Population Preservation Unit.” Law specifies, taking back the opened packet offered to him. 

“That’s underground, isn’t it?” Luffy hums in thought, licks the canned ham lid. “It’s getting dark,” he tells him. “So let me stay at your cool underground base tonight.”

 

Law hadn’t been offering and he doesn’t want to think of the dangers that letting outsiders in can cause. This time he can’t make an attempt to assuage his fears with the notion that he’s near-death and has nothing to lose. The PPU is almost more of an embodiment of himself than he is at this point. It holds all that he ever was—his culture, his memories, his last connections to his people and their legacy of death and decay. In a way it’s as precious to him as it is painful. He’d rather keep those hallowed metal halls to himself, though he isn’t sure how to refuse Luffy. The guy has just shared a vital resource with him.

“Alright, let’s go,” Luffy tells him, jumping up from his spot. It’s not a question. “Show me your home!” Though Luffy’s tone doesn’t sound threatening, Law knows that the matter is not up for debate. 

By the time the bunker comes into view, the sun is dipping low on the horizon, spilling crimson hues into the sky as if it’s impaling itself onto the hills in a last-ditch effort to get free of the world. Law feels like he can relate on some level. He wouldn’t mind being free of it all but being impaled is a pretty slow way to go. Slower than a sunset for sure—look who’s being picky about his death again. 

The sun may be fading into the distance but a suffocatingly hot humidity still hangs in the air, heavy, blanketing everything. It never really goes away. Law had given up feeling uncomfortable in the heat a long time ago but it still weighs on him. When he’s walking out here alone in the wasteland his brain sometimes likes to fantasize about the inevitability that he could either drown in his sweat or lose all moisture and shrivel up to nothing, become mummified.

He doesn’t get to indulge in such thoughts today. Today he’s with Luffy, and the inane chit-chat he’s offering is enough pull Law’s attention away from his morbid daydreams.

“You got anything to eat at home?” Luffy asks. 

“You just ate,” Law points out. 

“It’s weird, but I’m so hungry all the time since the thing happened. You think it’s possible to miss someone so bad it makes you hungry all the time?”

Law wants to ask him what the hell he’s talking about, but his head is reeling and his mind feels blurry, out of focus. It’s physically hard for him to walk distances. There’s a dull aching behind Law’s knees that makes them feel like they’re ready to give out at any second. He can’t help stumbling. 

“Traffy, hey, you okay?” Luffy’s saying, “Let’s get you back to your secret underground base quick.” 

Law feels his wrists being grabbed and pulled over Luffy’s shoulders but doesn’t have the strength to protest being picked up. Luffy lifts him up around the hips to carry him piggyback. Although it’s cheesy and embarrassing, and he’d rather die than admit it, it’s kind of nice to ride piggyback like people did in those ancient movies he watched as a kid. Here he is, just like Vanessa being carried by Wade in the classic 2023 film, Deadpool 4. 

It’s really, really nice, actually. Law feels more at ease than he’s felt in years. It’s not just a matter of giving up, saying that he’s close to death anyway. It’s almost startling for him to realize he actually feels safe. There’s something about Luffy—something genuine in his actions, something disarming in his smile, that makes Law want to trust him. Law sighs, closing his eyes, resting his head on Luffy’s shoulder. Right about now is when the leading role, Wade, would tell his love, Vanessa, something sweet.

“You smell nice,” Luffy tells him softly, and Law feels his heartbeat pick up, tightness building in his chest that he wishes he could blame on his illness, but then “-like food.” And the feeling is gone. Law still thinks he appreciates the sentiment though Luffy’s words are nowhere near as romantic as the line in the movie. It’d almost be weird if it was romantic. After all, he’s only just met this guy. 

Law swears he only closes his eyes for a second, but when he blinks them open, he’s already in the entryway to the bunker and Luffy’s dropping him from his shoulders. 

“How’d you know the code for the door lock?” Law asks. He presses the palms of his hands over his aching eyes. “You didn’t break it did you?”

“What do you mean?” Luffy blinks at him. “It was already open.” 

Already open?! That shouldn’t be. Law’s blood turns cold in his veins. His every nerve prickles with the chilling realization that he and Luffy are not alone here.

Sure the bunker is visible from the outside, if you’re really looking for it. But it isn’t easy to get past the security codes or penetrate the layers of protective steel by other means. Besides, as far as Law is aware, most salvagers don’t find it worth the trouble to use their resources for breaking into bunkers. He’s been told the kind of outdated, dysfunctional tech they’d find in a bunker just isn’t that valuable. 

Law is almost certain it has to be someone who knows him personally, which just puts him at further unease. He doesn’t have friends.


	2. Death Would Be a More Welcome Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey let go!” Luffy’s protesting, reaching back to grapple against Kidd’s hands on him. 
> 
> “Stop touching him,” slips out of Law’s mouth with an edge of hostility. He realizes he’s standing now—feeling more agitated than ever. He doesn’t even know why he cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to MarieMicheals for being such a great beta~  
> And to Shishiswordsman for all the fic talk and being so super supportive!!

Dim LED bulbs sense their arrival from behind little red light covers, blinking on to welcome Law home and paint the long, narrow halls in ominous crimson hues. The steel stairway lights up like a B-grade, horror film director’s perfect vision of a descent into hell. For Law, this place really is a kind of hell—one that haunts him in memories—one that he’s too attached to ever leave behind. 

His and Luffy’s footfalls resound through the steel walls in tinny echoes as they make their way down into the bowels of the structure, Luffy’s especially so. For such a lean guy, short in stature, his footsteps give the impression of a heavyweight, pounding against the floor in lead boots as he walks. Maybe he’s doing it on purpose—making noise to unnerve the unseen presence. Law hopes it works. He’s too tired to deal with other people, let alone fight off an intruder. 

White light pours from a doorway in the distance. It’s as though whoever is there has made themselves completely at home. The rote expressions of clanking tools, and clicking gears set the backdrop for the chatting of low voices. There’s a slightly sweet, doughy-like scent in the air mixing with the odor of motor oil. If Law’s mind wasn’t already swimming in a pain-clouded miasma, he could piece together the identity of his visitor before said presence reveals themselves. 

“Is that you, doc?” a rough voice calls, echoing off the tinny walls, “We’re in the kitchen. Bring your medical shit.” 

“Fucking great,” Law curses under his breath. It’s Eustass Kidd and his crew. 

“They talking to you?” Luffy asks, looking him over. “You don’t look like a doctor.” 

“Sorry I forgot to tell you my entire life story,” Law says, though he’s not sure Luffy’s picked up on his sarcasm. 

“Well if they’re your friends-“ Luffy speaks over his shoulder, quickens his stride toward the white light spilling into the hallway from the open kitchen door. 

They aren’t his friends. They’re parasites who rely on him for his medical knowledge, treat him like their personal physician, and unfortunately have enough muscle to keep him from rejecting their business.

Law isn’t really sure that he’s actually a doctor but he doesn’t dispute it. There’s no higher authority to verify his skill, or to bestow the title on him. Although he’s studied medical texts in his spare time, those tomes are a few centuries old. He doesn’t know if he can count on their credibility entirely, but so far they haven’t lead him wrong. Still, he’s done what he could to make an attempt at not letting his sister’s dream of a cure die completely, like his own shallow hope. 

Law scratches the patch of white, flaking skin on his cheek as he ducks into a small storage room, lockers lining the walls. All of them are still neatly closed the way he’d left them. At least it seems nobody has touched his shit. His fingers wander across the chipped paint surfaces to the one marked ‘24’ and lift up on its latch. He’s proud of his organizational ability. All of the medical supplies inside have been consolidated nicely into the small space. 

He would never think of revisiting the bunker’s medical wing—the blood-stained sheets still stretched across hospital beds, and refrigeration units still housing defective organs ready for desperate transplants. The crematorium is still filled with ashes. He’s never tried to move them, or memorialize them. Law has closed himself off from it all, both mentally and physically, keeping the triggering atmosphere quarantined. He may spend an unhealthy amount of time imagining his own death, but he prefers to keep thoughts of his community residing in happy, unblemished memories, if he can manage it. 

Sounds of boisterous laughter are rising from the kitchen, and Law realizes how it’s kind of nice, having something besides the ghosts of the past to fill the spaces around him. For the first time in a long while, it feels a little more like home than his own personal purgatory. The laughter almost piques his interest, though if anything, he’s more interested in being able to practice his hand at tending wounds. If there’s a silver lining in being forced to fix up reckless idiots, it has to be that—at the very least his education isn’t going to go to waste. 

He takes up his suture kit and a near-empty bottle of isopropyl alcohol. If these idiots don’t replace his quickly-depleting supplies soon, he’s going to start making them use their heinously strong booze for disinfectant.  
By the looks of things when he enters the kitchen, he’s right about medical knowledge not going to waste. Eustass Kidd is sitting at his dining table, tightening some bolts or something on his cybernetic replacement arm. He’s got a laceration on his shoulder, but even more concerning is his crewmate Wire, stoic as ever, even with a long gash across his brow, dried blood down the side of his face.  
At least he doesn’t have to worry about Luffy. He’s busy being entertained by Killer, who is tossing chunks of what looks like fresh bread at him while Luffy catches them in his mouth. 

Law slips behind Luffy and Killer to wash his hands at the kitchen sink before he gets to his work. “So, what’d you do this time and who all needs fixed up?” he asks.

“It was that bastard salvager Blackbeard again with his damn grenades. Knew it was coming this time, but the shrapnel still got us,” Kidd sneers, mutters something under his breath along the lines of, “That fucker already owes me an arm.”

“Blackbeard!?” Luffy cries, bread crumbs flying from his mouth, as he turns his attention to Kidd. “My brother and me got into a fight with that dick-face’s crew. But one of those assholes threw a grenade at us too.”

Law takes a special pleasure in the way Kidd grimaces, letting a few expletives slip as he shelters his face from the barrage of crumbs Luffy’s spraying in his direction. 

It’s almost a shame that Luffy takes a second to swallow down the rest before continuing. “And I don’t know what happened but when I woke up I was with my crew but nobody knew where Ace was and last I saw he was hurt pretty bad.”

Kidd smiles then—a wide toothy grin. Unlike the one Luffy wore earlier, this one is sly, predacious, stretched wide across his face in blood-red lipstick. 

Law has seen that before and he doesn’t like it. 

“Well then-” Kidd starts.

“Seems like you got a pretty big beef with him too,” Law interrupts casually, stepping between Kidd and Luffy to get to the table. He lingers between them a little longer than he has to while he pulls latex gloves over his long fingers. He strings up his needle and preps a syringe before he moves around the table to sit next to Wire. 

“So much beef!” Luffy growls, clenching his fists. “In the morning I’m gonna go kick his ass and make him tell me if he knows where my brother’s at.”

“Well,” Kidd drawls, drawing Luffy’s attention back to him. “We might be able to help with that. I’m not usually charitable, but my men are a little fucked up right now.” He gestures to Wire who shows no sign of having heard him. “I really wanna settle the score. You want in on it?” Kidd propositions. 

Law is trying to focus on his task, clean up Wire’s would enough to see, but he really wants to advise against any hastily formed plans. Law knows that Kidd is talking about decimation—bloody slaughter. Kidd’s crew is murderous to the core despite the superficially friendly rapport they have with him. Whether Luffy understands Kidd’s unspoken intentions or whether he cares Law can’t be sure. Luffy just doesn’t seem like the malicious type to him. 

“You wouldn’t mind being my bait would you? You slip in first. Start a little chaos,” Kidd explains, picking at his painted nails. “It’d be nice to have a distraction.” 

‘He can’t be serious,’ Law thinks. There’s definitely something left unsaid. It can’t possibly be that easy. Only someone who’s incredibly naïve or a complete idiot would agree to such an obvious-

“Ok, I’ll do it. I get first chance at Blackbeard then,” Luffy asserts.

“Sure,” Kidd grins. 

Law wants to tell Luffy not to—to reconsider rushing into a sure-fire suicide, but it’s really none of his business. He knows that. He just doesn’t want Kidd taking advantage of the unsuspecting—or is it that he doesn’t want a seemingly decent guy like Luffy to just throw his life away on a rash decision. 

“Let’s do it!” Luffy cries. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Kidd concurs, taking up two small cans. He peels back the tops and offers one to Luffy. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” Luffy echoes, clinking his tin against Kidd’s before tossing it back. 

Law’s hand is shaking more than usual. He tightens his grip on his needle, hopes nobody will notice his shoddy stitching later. Luffy can do whatever the hell he wants to. It doesn’t matter. It’s completely out of Law’s hands. 

“Alright, then-” Kidd claps Luffy on the shoulder with his cybernetic hand. It collides onto Luffy’s shoulder with the loud metallic thud of steel-on-steel. Luffy stumbles forward from the force of it. If Kidd had eyebrows, they would have been knit together in confusion. Whatever he was going to say is forgotten. “Wouldn’t have taken you for an android. You look realistic as fuck,” he says, wonderstruck.

“What do you mean?” Luffy looks just as confused as Kidd does. “I’m not-”

“Don’t fuck with me. You gotta know you’re an android,” Kidd scoffs. He stands up at almost twice Luffy’s height and tugs down the neckline at the back of his shirt. This time Luffy’s stumbling backward. “Jesus fucking christ. Looks like you’re part SC579,” Kidd speaks almost reverently.

“Hey let go!” Luffy’s protesting, reaching back to grapple against Kidd’s hands on him. 

“Stop touching him,” slips out of Law’s mouth with an edge of hostility. He realizes he’s standing now—feeling more agitated than ever. He doesn’t even know why he cares. 

“Just do your shit, doc,” Kidd tells him, shooting him a glare. 

“What’s a SC970?” Luffy asks then.

“SC579. They were built to be clean-up bots that feed on radioactive material.” There’s a hint of amusement to Kidd’s voice. He talks as though he’s telling a joke that never fails to make the listener laugh, “But they got a reputation for being really unstable. There’s a reason they’re relics these days. Shit, whoever put those parts in you is some kinda madman.” 

“They’re unstable in what way?” Law asks, feeling his knees buckle and he’s back in his chair. He reminds himself he needs to focus on his task even if he’d rather focus on Luffy for now. He quickly slips his needle under the skin at Wire’s brow one last time, closing up the wound with anxious fingers. 

“Yeah, what do you mean unstable?” Luffy pouts, sinking into a chair on the other side of Law. "Is that why I'm always hungry?"

Law sure as fuck hopes that's not the case, and he doesn't think so. He doesn't have a very thorough understanding of nuclear physics like he probably should, but what kind of human would he be if he actually learned from history. And he's never known any androids at all, but he doesn't think that Luffy's hunger would be related to instability. If anything, he'd imagine that-

“That’s because you don’t have enough power,” Kidd grumbles like he’s explained it a thousand times and they just haven’t been listening. “If you’re anything like other filtration units, you have too much intake or if the filters get clogged and there’s a buildup of radioactive particles, _then_ you’d become too unstable. If your cooling system gets fucked up you could melt down. We should check your systems, but right now you seem good.” 

"Traffy smells good," Luffy tells him almost dreamily, eyes closed, leaning with one propped-up elbow on the table. 

"Like... food," Law reiterates. It makes so much sense now. Maybe if Luffy is somehow powered by radioactive materials then he could be drawn to Law much in the same way that humans are instinctively drawn to the scent of cooking food. Law's veins are swimming with radioactivity. It's almost amusing in some strange, twisted way that he came to meet someone so drawn to him like some kind of nuclear-waste vampire. Law could just imagine himself like the victim on a movie screen, giving in to the forbidden charm of the undead, letting this guy have his way with him, suck the blood from his neck. 

"Yeah, like something tasty. Why do you smell tasty, Traffy?” Luffy asks leaning in close. 

All eyes are on him—he thinks. Law can’t actually see Killer’s eyes for the mask that the man wears, but Wire is definitely staring at him; Kidd too and the look on his face—schadenfreude is too light of a word for what’s going on behind that smug, gloating grin of his. 

“Trafalgar’s so radioactive he should probably wear a warning, poor bastard,” Killer notes. Kidd chuckles. 

Law can’t immediately think of any cutting retort but a choice hand gesture is enough to let them know just how much Law thinks they should fuck off. 

Luffy leans in toward Law, cutting off his glare. He squints at him as if assessing the credibility of Killer’s statement and Law is almost curious if Luffy is capable of seeing radioactive particles in the white spots on his skin or something. Law’s face feels so warm suddenly. His pulse is racing so hard he can hear his own heartbeat. 

Luffy leans in closer—so close his lips almost brush Law’s and Law thinks for a moment he almost feel Luffy’s breath on his lips. He wonders if Luffy can feel his breath. 

Luffy’s eyes flutter closed behind all too realistic eyelashes. What is he doing!? Law isn’t prepared for this. He doesn’t want something like this to happen in front of assholes who will never let him live it down, but—but then there’s something sliding against his cheek followed by the smacking of lips.

“Hmm, I guess you taste alright,” Luffy hums, sitting back in his chair.

“D-d-did you- did you just lick me!” Law sputters, wiping his sleeve across his flushed face.

Luffy just shrugs, “I wanted to see if you taste as good as you smell.” 

Kidd and his band of merry assholes laugh hard and loud. Any time they can enjoy the embarrassment of others is a good time to them. 

Law can physically _feel_ himself dying a little more on the inside—not that he wanted to be kissed or anything anyway. That’d be weird, but _licking_ him!? That was worse! 

“Luffy, what- what the hell is wrong with you?!” Law grumbles. “Does that mean you were really going to try to eat me if I did taste good?”

“Well, not with that attitude.” Luffy huffs, indignant.

Law laughs then too because he couldn’t hold it back even if he tried, because it’s just so absurd. Being eaten by an android—is that really an option for how he’s going to go? He laughs from the depths of his soul, relinquishing any right to look sane and rational. No amount of Hollywood fantasy could have prepared him for something quite like this. He laughs until there are tears forming at the corners of his eyes, until his voice gives out, until he can barely breathe. He laughs until he’s left wheezing, his lungings giving out, and he can’t stop coughing. 

“Don’t know why I even care—— if I was going to get eaten—— or not. I’m dying anyway,” Law confesses between coughs, though it’s not actually a secret. It’s more so just something he usually doesn’t like telling others to spare them both the awkwardness of the news. 

“What do you mean you’re dying?” Luffy asks, eyes gone wide, his voice rising an octave, sounding more like man than machine.

“Just look at him.” Killer says, passing Law a glass of water. 

Kidd gestures toward Law, “Those weird white patches all over his skin aren’t just there to look pretty.” 

Law doesn’t add any commentary. He just sips the water, gives in to the urge to scratch at the itching white blotch on the side of his neck. 

“What are they then?” Luffy looks from Law, to Kidd, then back to Law. He reaches out to touch Law’s cheek, running his fingers over the patch of white that stretches across his face. Law should tell Luffy not to touch him without even asking first. It’s rude. But it’s been so long since anyone has touched him, especially like this—curious and intimate. He has to admit he kind of likes it despite the unwanted audience who, by the way, could go fuck themselves.

“It’s a manifestation of radiation and chemical pollutants,” Law tells him. “and it’s not just my skin. I’ve got contamination in my blood—in my bones—in my DNA and it’s killing me.” There’s a whole new kind of weak and pathetic he feels right now. It’s one thing to know that he’s terminally ill—to feel and live it. It’s a completely different thing to admit it openly in front of someone he barely knows. He doesn’t want pity. He wouldn’t mind a quick death—one that maybe doesn’t involve being eaten. 

But it’s not pity in Luffy’s eyes when he looks at him, his fingers still on Law’s face, tracing his stubbly jawline down to his untrimmed goatee.

“Then I’m gonna help you. Give me your blood or something. Let me eat the radioactive stuff if that’s what I’m supposed to do,” Luffy tells him. There’s a resolute, burning conviction in his gaze that falls on Law making him feel exposed and somehow protected all at once. 

“I’m not actually sure if that’s possible,” Law hums, biting his lip. 

“Well, it might be possible to filter blood,” Kidd shrugs, addressing Luffy. “Let’s open you up and see what we’re working with.” 

“Okay, then-” Luffy stands up pulling off his shirt now, tossing it to the floor. “then check me out,” he says, running his own hands over his lean, modestly muscular form as if looking for a switch or something. 

Law does not know anything at all about androids or if Luffy stripping is really preparation to help him. If anything, that perfectly sculpted body is going to just cause him more problems, because even if Luffy is an android, he looks human to an almost unsettling degree. He’s a beautifully made, anatomically exquisite representation of the male form. 

Law’s mind may be able to logically differentiate between man and machine, but his own body evidently doesn’t give a single fuck what the brain thinks. Law can already feel his heart rate picking up again, warmth rising to his cheeks, nervousness stirring in his stomach and he prays to all the gods that have ever failed him that nobody is catching on to how the sight of Luffy is making him feel. It doesn’t even help that Luffy’s turning around, flexing his back muscles over an imprint that reads ‘SC579’ along his shoulder blade. 

If he really is an android meant to run on radiation, Law’s not against using him in some kind of way to filter his blood. He's not above using himself like a guinea pig either. It’s just a matter of how to go about it. The idea does pique his scientific curiosity. It feels like an exciting chance to get experimental, and Law ought to take it.

Kidd grabs Luffy by the armpits and Luffy squirms reflexively, kind of like he’s ticklish. Whatever switch or button is hidden under there pops open his chest cavity just enough for Kidd to take hold of the hatch and open it completely. 

It's almost grotesque. It definitely feels a little like a human rights violation to just grab a guy and rip his chest open even if he is an android. Luffy doesn't seem to mind.

"I'm really an android!!" he gasps, marveling at his gaping chest cavity, reaching in to poke around, "This is so cool!!"

"Hey, don’t fuck shit up," Kidd says, swatting Luffy’s hand away as he crouches in front of him, “Let’s find that filter first off.”

Law leans over him. Even if he doesn't know a thing about androids, he's intrinsically curious about what goes on inside them. This is a rare chance for him. He had just never expected that they'd be anything like he's seeing now. Evidently, neither does Kidd who is just staring at it all, carefully prodding here and there. 

Luffy's innards are, well, very much like the typical organs you'd expect to see in a human body, even if they don’t appear to be made of living tissue. There’s a heart of rubbery flesh, pumping liquid through a system of thin, clear tubing to simulate veins and arteries. The other organs seem to be similarly encased in the same rubbery material. Law is caught completely off guard—thoroughly in awe of the sight before him. This body is a perfect replica of human anatomy through and through. It’s breathtaking in ways that Law had never expected. He’s itching to get in there. 

Kidd is still just looking into his chest cavity, still poking around, humming in thought. “-shit is complex,” he remarks under his breath. 

"If he works anything like humans, then-" Law starts.

"He ain't human though.” Kidd interrupts. “He's a machine and you're a doctor, not a mechanic."

“Well, in that case sorry to interrupt. It appeared you weren’t actually doing anything,” Law half-apologises. He knows he probably shouldn’t antagonise, but he’s neither afraid of Kidd nor the consequences. “Please resume your thinking at him,” Law tells him. “I’ll be here to do the doctor thing if you give yourself an aneurysm.” 

Kidd stands, using the weight of his body to physically push Law backward. He glares down at him like he’s about to rip his intestines out through his throat and strangle him with them. It’s only slightly intimidating. “Listen, you weak little shit. I was willing to try to help your sorry ass, but-“ 

“Excuse me?” Law doubts his actual intentions were the least bit charitable. More likely he wanted to satisfy his own mechanical curiosities. 

“I’m still hungry,” Luffy reminds them.

“I simply said _if_ he works like humans,” Law cuts in. He doesn’t actually want to be murdered tonight. At least not until he can put his hands on Luffy and purely in a medical sense of course. “He looks exactly like a human. And in that case, filtering process would be something akin to-” 

“Alright, alright, fine. If you’re so fuckin’ confident I’ll leave you to it. Good luck not causing a nuclear meltdown,” Kidd growls at him. 

Law feels a smug grin forming on his lips. Kidd may be a mechanic but Law is sure that he doesn’t actually know enough about androids, or at least not enough about Luffy’s model, to fight him on his theory that his body works like a human’s. 

“Let’s go,” Kidd says to Wire and Killer, nodding to the door. Killer lets the reminder of the loaf he’s been sharing on the countertop, amidst the dishes they’ve dirtied and Wire follows. 

Kidd pauses at the door, says to Luffy “And you, robot kid, if you want your easy-in meet us tomorrow morning on the ridge overlooking the scrap yard at Blackbeard’s compound.” 

“See you,” Luffy calls after them, eyeing the bread. 

Law opens his mouth to tell them to clean up his kitchen—tell them he also doesn’t want the leftover loaf or hellishly strong booze they've left, but Luffy’s already taking care of the bread at least. 

“Traffy, I’m still hungry,” he whines around a mouthful of bread.


	3. Living on Borrowed Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my wonderful beta, MarieMicheals.
> 
> Check out Shishiswordsman’s [absolutely breathtaking work of art](https://shishisart.tumblr.com/post/183654385041/that-one-luffy-cries-his-excitement-echoing) as a companion piece for part 3!
> 
> **Warning for people with a needle phobia- there is a minor part which details use of a needle for a medical procedure.**

“Gimme your blood,Traffy,” Luffy demands. The eager expression on his face would be all too unsettling without context. “I’m still really hungry and it’ll help you too.” 

This little android is so optimistic that this will actually work. Law finds it endearing in a way. It gives him an almost nostalgic feeling—close to his heart, but somehow unsettling. The last optimistic fools who were here died long ago, and though Law has resented them for having fool’s confidence in experimental medical procedures, he’s also about to play around with his life. 

“Yeah, I’ll give you my blood, but first-“ Law and hands Luffy a glass of water in each hand. “It’s for flushing out the remaining food,” he says. Law mixes a sanitizing solution in the sink while Luffy drinks and when he finishes, fills Luffy’s two glasses with it. 

Luffy’s eyebrows dip. His mouth curves into a frown, bottom lip jutting out in just enough of a pout to show his displeasure. Such an expression is so irrefutably human and unexpectedly... cute. It’s so cute in it’s candidness that Law has to fight the urge to relax his resolve. 

“This isn’t food,” Luffy huffs.

“It’s sanitizing solution,” Law says fighting off the smile that’s trying to crawl onto his face. He won’t let Luffy charm him into playing fast and loose with his blood. 

“It smells like death,” Luffy notes, eyes flicker to Law. “I mean it smells like bad-death. You still smell good. Like good-death.” 

Law’s very much aware of the state he’s in. If anything he’s far beyond any more discussion over it. They’ve already established that he might not be long for this world, but damn, if he doesn’t smell absolutely succulent. 

“Well, I can’t let you try filtering my blood until you drink that,” Law states, “Drink up. I’ll be back by the time you’re done.” He takes up his suture kit, and motions for Luffy to stay while he ducks out of the room to return his things to storage. 

But of course nothing can be so simple and Luffy’s clunking down the hall after him. Law doesn’t know who made this android but it must have been some kind of free-spirit mad-scientist type who wanted to give him free will like humans. The purpose of mankind inventing technology was supposed to be for making human lives easier, but Luffy doesn’t seem at all inclined to do that. 

“Don’t touch anything,” Law cautions Luffy who’s already got his fingers all over the lockers, popping each one open. Law supposes that maybe Luffy’s alleged brother is somehow his designated human or something and he isn’t obligated to listen to anyone else. Law knows he could speculate about this little dumbass android all night and never know. The one thing he can probably be sure of is that he can’t expect too much of him.

He sure as fuck does not expect that when Luffy gets around to the medical supply locker he’s restocking, that the guy is going to grab him. 

“Traffy~” Luffy groans, throwing his arms around him, pulling him close, “Don’t make me drink that stuff.” He takes a deep breath, and sighs like he’s taking in the scent of Law, basking in the sweet aroma he exudes through his slowly decomposing flesh. 

It’s odd but not entirely off-putting to be smelled-up by an android. People have certainly done worse things to him. Law can feel the beating of Luffy’s slow, steady robotic heart mocking his own as it involuntary picks up pace, falters against his ribs. He should be annoyed at Luffy not listening to him—so far being nothing but an inconvenience to him, but Law can’t find it in himself to feel that way. 

He grasps onto the top shelf of his medical supply locker more to anchor him to reality than to stop himself from falling over. It’s been a really long time since anyone’s held him in their arms. It feels kind of nice to be touched—to be embraced like this even if the person holding him is practically drooling on him. 

Law takes back what he thought about Luffy’s creator. Whoever made him has got to be a madman anarchist bent on taking down humanity one person at a time. This little android is probably meant to take advantage of him, and he can’t help but be more than willing to give in. He wouldn’t even put it past a rogue ai to have created this machine of seduction. 

But then he thinks he shouldn’t have thought that because now his mind is jumping to even more scenarios that involve seduction and suddenly this contact is getting all too unbearable. It’s on the verge of becoming mortifying if Luffy realizes what he’s inspiring in him. It takes all the strength and willpower Law has to wiggle free of Luffy. 

He hastily grabs up an armful of supplies—alcohol swab, tourniquet, tape, sterile needle, two sections of sterile tubing and places them into a metal dish. He wraps his other arm around Luffy’s shoulder and marches him back into the kitchen where there’s more adequate lighting and room to work. 

“Drink this,” he tells Luffy again, nods to the still-full glasses that he puts back in his hands. Luffy whines, makes Law feel compelled to watch him from the corner of his eye as he washes his hands just in case. “Well,” he prompts, drying his hands on what he thinks is his last clean kitchen towel and paces back to the table. 

Luffy looks from him to the glasses and back to him. 

Law just raises his eyebrows waits. 

Luffy swallows them down quicker than the ham from the tin. He grimaces at the taste, his shoulders scrunching up with an involuntary shiver like he’s just downed the two full bottles of the hellishly strong liquor Kidd’s crew left behind instead. 

“Ready!” Luffy says, half coughing. He sets his now empty glasses on the table, watches with Law as the cloudy sanitizing solution swirls through the translucent tubing on it’s way to the stomach, and pour through, running clear as it passes through the small intestinal tubing filter and into the large intestine.

“Ready,” Luffy insists, “now gimme your blood. I’m really hungry.”

“Hold on a minute.” Law turns to take up some of the sterile tubing he’s brought along. “We’ve got to connect this to your small intestine here,” Law explains, pointing to the spot, “so I can have my blood back after you’re done with it.” 

“Okay,” Luffy reaches in, rips out the tubing connecting the section of his small intestine to the large. Small pieces of electronic components fall from his body. 

Law lunges forward, both hands out to catch anything vital. There are too many tiny pieces. They slip through his fingers, clink as they hit the floor. He has no idea what any of them are. He knows nothing of androids. He couldn’t possibly fix Luffy if—

“Now we’re ready.” Luffy lets the lower intestine tube flop unceremoniously out of his gaping chest cavity, tells Law simply “Do it.” 

Law breathes a sigh of relief that the rest of the tubing of Luffy’s lower gastrointestinal tract is somehow secured in his body enough to not just come along and tumble all over the floor. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is an android completely disemboweling himself in his kitchen. He takes up his tape, thankful that the sizes of the two tubings are somewhat comparable. The last thing he actually needs is any more delays in trying to get this all set up.

“It’s ok, I got this, Traffy,” Luffy takes the tape from him and though he doesn’t seem all that credible after nearly disemboweling himself, Law lets him slide the sterile tubing into the opening, tape them together, while he grumbles about how hungry he is again.

“Just don’t let my IV line touch the floor. Got to keep it clean. ” Law says, swabbing the alcohol over a pale splotch on his arm—over the thick bluish vein running under his now nearly transparent-white skin. His nerves prickle as he pulls the needle from its packaging. It’s one thing to have studied how to use these things, it’s another to actually do so, and while he’s had a little practice patching up reckless idiots with bigger death wishes than himself, he can’t help his nerves. He does the very best he can to line the needle up with his vein before plunging the tip in, relieved that he knows how to do this better than he gives himself credit for. 

“What’s that feel like?” Luffy asks, face all too close for comfort once again. He looks like he’s about ready to try sucking blood from the site. Law doesn’t trust him not to try. 

“Feels fucking amazing. I’m having the time of my life-“ Law means it sarcastically but he’s got to admit the thought of this experiment is a once in a lifetime opportunity. 

“Good, ‘cause it doesn’t look like much fun having shit crammed in your arm,” Luffy says sounding even more sarcastic though his tone carries no such sentiment. Regardless of how he meant it Law appreciates the banter. 

He turns away from him, taking both of the lines to connect to the cannula stuck in his arm—one for the blood to go out, and the other for it to come back in. He’s barely looped the line around and secured it with tape to his arm before Luffy’s snatching it up. 

Luffy takes a casual sip on Law’s IV line, drawing the blood out, happily declaring “This really is tasty!” 

Law winces at the sensation. It’s certainly nothing like he’s experienced before. He’d almost call it painful if pain wasn’t his constant state of being. 

“Take it slow,” Law cautions him. Despite his valid reasons, he knows he’s probably already asked too much of Luffy to make him wait so long to get something to eat. 

Law’s own stomach growls, reminds him of what little he’s had today. He pulls Luffy with him as he moves, reaches into his refrigeration unit for some dried figs and nuts he’s been saving. 

It’s impossible to miss the look of anticipation in Luffy’s wide eyes when he turns around, food in hand. After all his efforts to clear Luffy’s system there’s no way he can possibly give him anything but blood for now.

“We’re, uh, we’re going to do another experiment,” Law improvises. “I’ll eat this and you tell me if you can taste it in my blood.” 

Luffy hums, taking another long, slow sip on the IV line. 

“I’ll bet you really can taste it,” Law lies. He has no idea if it would be possible to taste it in his blood, but he’s hardly eaten anything all day and he suspects he might need anything rich in iron he can get to abate the effects of the temporary blood loss. 

“Okay, but your blood is really good already.” Luffy chirps, content with the answer, closes his chest as far as it’ll go with the line trailing out of it to bring Law’s blood back to him.

“Let’s watch a movie while we snack,” Law suggests, considers Luffy for a second. “And get you a new shit. A clean shirt,” he emphasizes before Luffy can go reaching for the garment he’s tossed on the floor. 

Law takes him arm-in-arm to lead him down the hall and Luffy comes along, blissful looking around as he takes sips of Law’s blood along the way. 

Law leads him into a corridor of closely placed little bedrooms. He’s still got the same one after all these years, at the far end of the hall. He’d never dared to even think of moving even though there are rooms closer to the rest of the facilities. In his mind those rooms are still taken. So he leads Luffy down to the last, slides the door open.

“Is that a real sword up there on your wall?!” is the first thing out of Luffy’s mouth before he launches himself onto Law’s bed, bed springs squeaking out in alarm, headboard knocking into the wall. “Zoro’s got swords too.”

Law has no time to think—finds himself jumping onto the bed along with him just to keep the IV line from ripping out of his arm. 

“Yes, it’s real,” Law grumbles, swatting Luffy’s hand away from it. “And we’re here for a shirt, and nothing else.” He reminds Luffy, takes him by that grabby little hand to pull him off the bed to his antique wardrobe and pops it open.

“Can I choose it?” Luffy asks, poking his head into the wardrobe, takes another sip of Law’s blood and hands him the tube. 

“Sure, why not,” Law allows. It’s not like he’ll probably have much use for them in the future with the whole dying thing he’s got going on. 

“Why do all your shirts got this weird smiling symbol on them?” Luffy hums, sifting around through the pile of shirts. 

“I was trying to create my own fashion line,” Law says, wonders if Luffy will find the statement sarcastic or not. He doesn’t want to admit that as a lonely teen he’d fantasized about having his own crew of wasteland bandits and that was the symbol he’d chosen to represent the crew. 

“It’d be cool as a crew mark,” Luffy notes. “I got a crew, but we don’t wear our mark.”

Law can’t resist asking “What are they like?” He’s only ever imagined the kind of people he’d have on his crew—considered how cool it would be to have cyborgs and mutants and a polar bear who knows martial arts if he lets his imagination run wild. 

“They’re the best!” Luffy says emphatically, turns to him and there it is again, that pure and beautiful grin—genuine and real. 

Law gives into a small smile of his own. 

“Zoro’s really strong and Sanji’s really great at cooking” Luffy counts them off on his fingers as he talks. “Usopp’s good at a bunch of stuff like telling stories and building things. Franky’s great at building stuff too. He’s a cyborg. Nami’s kind of a cyborg too but it’s just her arm and foot that’s cybernetic. She doesn’t build things but she does make maps and there’s-“ and he’s reached the limit of counting on his left hand. 

“Oh yeah,” he regards the cardigan in his right hand. “I want this one,” he says, pulling it on. 

It actually fits him pretty well, Law has to admit, taking a small bit of pleasure in seeing his crew mark on Luffy.

Luffy looks himself over a second, checking out Law’s insignia on the back through his wardrobe mirror before nodding to Law. “We’re a set now,” he decides.

Law isn’t really sure what he means other than the fact that they’re wearing slightly similar clothing, but he likes the sound of it. 

“So, about that movie,” Law proposes. With Luffy’s apparent energy, he assumes it’s probably his best bet to keep him stationary. “You ever see a movie?” 

“I haven’t seen that many movies. Franky fixed an old projector—he can fix anything—but we don’t have a lot of titles to play. You got anything exciting?” 

“Yeah, lots of them. We’ve got more than a million titles. Whatever you like, I’ll bet I’ve got it.” Law explains as he pulls him down the hall, into the small cinema, and turns on the lights in the back—only the dimmest ones. 

He’s not really sure Luffy is even listening anymore. He’s even stopped sipping the blood. He’s just gazing wide-eyed, jaw dropped, at the countless shelves of titles that line the walls. They number just over two hundred thousand—so many it would take a lifetime to see them all—and these are just a select number of physical back-ups for the titles stored in their database. 

“Would you like like me to choose one?” Law offers.

“Okay!” Luffy says, blinking. “One with action. Explosions and crazy shit!” He gestures wild with his arms, whipping the line around and Law has to catch his hand before he accidentally rips it from his arm. 

Well, that narrows it down significantly. Only 90% of the action movies made in the last century contain some kind of explosions and crazy shit. 

“Oh, and pirates!” Luffy stipulates. 

So that does narrow it down a bit. Law pulls him along to the computer in the back of the theatre. He flips on the projector to warm it up while he searches ‘pirates’ in the database. He can feel Luffy watching over his shoulder as he scrolls through the titles. 

“That one!!!” Luffy cries, his excitement echoing off the walls. He throws his arm over Law’s shoulder, jabbing the screen. “It’s the next one! I gotta see it!” 

Pirates of the Caribbean 2– Law has seen the 2037 remake a half-dozen times. It’s a good choice really, and so much better than the original 2006 version with its horrible CGI. 

He sets the movie to play and pulls Luffy over to the plush, threadbare sofa he’s got set up in there just for himself. Being the last one alive in his community did have its perks. It isn’t as if anyone is about to go telling him he can’t bring a sofa from the rec room into the theatre now is there? Besides, his mother probably would’ve let him anyway. 

This spacious theatre is easily Law’s favourite place in the entire bunker. Sure, the library is nice in its own way and his room is cozy but this place is where his childhood was shaped the most. It’s the thing that his little civilization circled around—preservation of humanity’s past. 

He can remember vividly how his sister used to drag him here from the library on Friday nights, so worried about not getting a good seat for movie night, as if half of their education hadn’t already relied on watching films for knowledge. Movie night was different. Instead of watching educational films as a group of students, entire families gathered together to watch fantastical adventures of things they couldn’t possibly have ever imagined on their own. 

In the movies anything seemed possible and Law imagines it may have made his people think too much of what they were capable of. He blames these misguided ideals for normalizing blind hope in things like experimental medical procedures. While he may hold some disdain for the way his people idolized the characters and the ideals portrayed in these films, he can’t deny he’s also likely impacted by them. Here he is, the guy who finds folly in the experiments of other doctors, sitting here playing juice box to an android thirsty for his blood. 

Law doesn’t know if he’s a hypocrite or something worse. He doesn’t care—doesn’t matter because who is going to judge him for it? And he still likes to indulge in movies to escape his own thoughts for a while. 

Luffy wraps his arm around his shoulders, pulls him closer, and Law gives in to rest his head against Luffy’s shoulder as they recline on the sofa. He drapes his arm carefully across Luffy’s lap so neither tube will get pinched and the blood flow won’t be interrupted, pleased to note the blood is making its return. 

Luffy’s body is strangely warm although he isn’t living. A soft purr vibrates through him while his body works at filtering Law’s blood—uncanny how if he didn’t pay attention Law could almost mistake it for the way an actual person’s words reverberate through their chest when the speak. 

There's so much life to him, in his gestures and in his voice as he makes excited remarks, shouting commands to the characters in the film as if their actions haven’t been scripted. It’s almost more enjoyable to experience Luffy experiencing the movie than to watch the movie itself. 

It’s been so long since Law has had another person to share his life with like this. Even though it’s just something as silly and mundane as watching a movie, it’s just really nice to be spending time with someone like this—to be spending time with _Luffy_ like this. He realizes they’ve only known each other for a ridiculously short time but there’s no one else he’d rather have here with him—

“Don’t go.” The words slip from Law’s lips, accidental, on impulse. Law hopes Luffy didn’t hear him. He prays he won’t ask for an explanation. Law’s not sure he can bring himself to admit to Luffy that it’s paining him to imagine Luffy walking into the suicide mission that he’s agreed to tomorrow morning. Law has seen unnecessary death—more than anyone should, but of all of them, this is one he could possibly prevent. This is the only one he’s felt he has the slightest control over. But he shouldn’t have said anything. He can’t say anything more. It’s not his place. 

“Not until tomorrow,” Luffy says, voice barely audible over the sound of the orchestral music setting the mood of sailing over the high seas. His eyes are still focused on the screen. Luffy takes a sip on the IV line but the pain of the blood being forcibly pulled from Law’s veins feels like nothing compared to the way those nonchalant words clench his heart. 

At the risk of provoking a divide between himself and Luffy, Law finds himself insisting “There must be some other way of getting the information you want.” though he doesn’t have the slightest idea what he could possibly suggest. Something in him feels desperate. He just can’t let go it go. He doesn’t know why he cares.

Luffy turns his face toward him then, dark shadows painting his features in harsh relief. Light from the screen ebbs and flows over him. “I’ll come back for you too,” he says. 

“But-“ Law starts. He wants to make it clear that he’s not trying to make this about himself. He just doesn’t want Luffy to get himself killed for an uncertain hope, though there’s a finality in Luffy’s words that he can’t fight. He shouldn’t risk any further damage it would do to the brief relationship he’s established with Luffy—shouldn’t burn the bridge that’s not even finished being built. “But-“ the word sticks on his tongue. 

Luffy leans in closer, just a breath away. Those big dark eyes shine, almost luminescent in the lowlight, as they find his. 

There’s a change in him when he speaks again—mature assuredness, in his voice when he says, “I _will_ come back for you.” Luffy’s gaze falls to his lips, flickers back up to meet his eyes. “It’s a promise,” he adds. 

His eyelids slip closed, thick eyelashes threading together. And this time it’s not a feint when he leans even closer, head tilted the slightest degree. His lips meet Law’s slightly, softly, just for a quick moment, almost as though he’s hesitant, even though he doesn’t seem the type. And the space he leaves between them is so small but has Law so desperate for more. 

Law wants this as much as he’s tried not to show it. He’s tried not to conceive of wanting this with a near-stranger, but he can’t deny he wants as much as he can have before it’s gone forever. 

Law closes the space between them, kisses Luffy back, lips parted in a plea. He’d regret it the rest of his short life if he didn’t let Luffy know he wants this—Law wants to give Luffy his heart, his blood, whatever Luffy will have of him. 

And as much as it’s killing Law to know he has to let Luffy go, there’s futility in arguing against it. If all he can really do is all he’s ever done and remain a useless onlooker—the designated loner with only memories to connect him to anyone he’s ever cared about, he’ll at least make the memories lasting. 

It’s almost a cruel joke that the treatment seems to be working. Law’s starting to feel a bit better, coherent, his mind much less clouded with pain, and much more alive than he’s felt in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this fic is part of the LawLu Big Bang. You can find lots of other works by amazing creators on [the LawLu-events tumblr blog.](https://lawlu-events.tumblr.com/)


	4. Dearly Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Law chuckles at the bittersweet thought of dying with him, but somehow he can imagine a disgruntled look on Luffy’s face if he finds out Law is thinking such things. Dying together doesn’t exactly feel ideal to Law either. It’s oddly startling to realize that he doesn’t actually want to die—at least not anymore. But he doesn’t want to be without Luffy either.

**********

“You’re going to cure it, right?” his little sister Lamie asks, leaning over the side of her hospital bed, weak-excitement in her voice. White splotches cover her skin, making her her appear ghostly. She’s thin, frail and much smaller than a thirteen year old girl really should be. 

“No, I’m studying medicine just for fun,” Law quips, looking up from the yellowed pages of a centuries old medical text. He really does want to find a cure, but it’s all he can do to just remember medical terminology—a multitude of overly complex words that seem designed to evade his memory. The book may as well have been written completely in Latin for as much as he’s getting out of it. He’d like to blame his lack of concentration on anxiety over his community members dropping dead one-by-one, but by now such a thing is commonplace. 

“I know you’ll find a cure,” Lamie chirps, smiling even in the face of death. A giggle catches in her throat, makes her cough a bloody splatter onto the floor, onto Law, the book in his lap. 

Silence settles between them. These days the things better left unsaid outnumber the words spoken. 

Law scratches at the tiny white splotch on his chin. It’s growing faster than the goatee he’s convinced he can get to come in now that he’s almost a man. He doesn’t dwell on them—his own symptoms. Lamie, his last living relative, is who matters most right now. 

Law doesn’t want to tell her that finding a cure at this stage is a pipe dream. He’ll never make it in time. She’s too far gone and they both know it but each of them still reserves some small hope that they’re wrong. Miraculous things can happen to people, right? At least they did in the movies. Lamie’s got surgery in the morning. Maybe a fresh set of organs is just what she needs. 

“I will,” he says though his words feel hollow, “I promise.”

But the next day she’s gone. 

He’d known he’d probably lose her before he met his own end, but it’s too soon. The world feels as though it’s moving around him but he’s not a participant in it. He doesn’t even see her until she’s ashes, and it’s hard for him to believe it’s really her, burnt up, consolidated so neatly into the little box they’ve handed him. The community holds a ceremony. The remaining members recite their condolences to him in habitual expressions, claims that she’s ‘in a better place’. The loss—it just doesn’t feel real. His emotions sit on the surface of his mind, his world distorted like he’s looking at it through layers of ice. Feels like he’s gone cold, overwhelmed, disconnected from rationale. 

The day after, Law resolves to leave the PPU. He just can’t bear to be there any longer. He numbly packs up his bag, stuffed with a few days' canned rations and century-old honey stashed in the main pocket, grabs up his sword, resting the ancient steel against his shoulder.

That’s it—pretty much his entire life in one bag. He won’t ever have to come back to this little metal box in the ground if he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t really have much reason to anymore, he thinks. He doesn’t really have anyone to come back to. 

His parents, and now his sister—they’re gone. They’re dead and gone. He’ll never see them again. He’ll never hear their voices, never feel the warmth and weight of their bodies when they hug him. He’ll never get to know his sister would have become had she been given the chance to grow up. His family is gone and there’s nothing he can do about it. Something breaks through his consciousness, his emotions pouring through the cracks. He tries to blink away the tears but more rise to cloud his vision, spill down his cheeks. 

He’s been such a fucking idiot for going along with the community’s blind optimism, their easy dismissal of death. He snatches up the medical textbook, flings it at the wall. Miracles didn’t happen. He swipes everything from his desk in blind rage like some kind of character in a movie. He hates this place, hates how _everything_ , down to his actions has been so influenced by fucking the media he’s consumed. Most of all he hates himself for trying to cling to the facade of bull-shit ideals force-fed him on the silver screen—-to hold out even the slightest hope when there was none. Miracles are lies and he’s a brainwashed idiot. He has to get the hell out of here and he doesn’t ever intend to come back. 

His boots pound against the floor of the metal structure. Anyone inquiring what he’s up to is met with a scowl, choice hand gesture thrown up to deter those who would from stopping him. 

It’s the last time he sees any of them alive. 

********

Law wakes to the white noise of the projector fan, the screen gone blank, black. Ominous stillness hangs in the air—the projector still exuding a glowing dim light. 

In the haze of waking he feels almost euphoric, so pleasant and pain free. Feels like he’s well for the first time in so long that he’s not sure if he’s somehow high or if this is how normal is supposed to be. 

Is his promise to Lamie really not a hopeless dream? He’s not naïve enough to assume he’s been cured from one treatment but somehow there’s hope—real hope. 

Law is feeling so much better than he’s felt in ages even if his skin still itches, probably still has white splotches all over. His right hand reaches for his arm to scratch away the tickling sensation creeping over his skin. 

The IV line! Law jolts upright in a panic. It’s—it’s been removed. An adhesive bandage is slapped over the place where it was, one side mangled, more so sticking to itself than his skin. There’s a soft bruise formed at the site where his blood has been left to pool underneath the surface. Dried blood splattering clings to his skin and his shirt. It looks like Luffy at least attempted to do a decent job of caring for him. Luffy—

Luffy’s gone. 

Silence hangs in the air—definitive, heavy silence and he knows it’s futile to even suppose that Luffy could have just wandered off to another room. It’d do him no good to imagine Luffy raiding his kitchen cupboards, rapt with the anticipation of finding something delicious. He shouldn’t think of him standing on his bed to grab his sword off the wall, pulling it from its scabbard with curious eyes and bated breath. That would be too good to be true. It is. He’s not here. He’s naïvely gone to take on a suicide mission to get clues of his brother’s whereabouts. 

Luffy’s really gone.

And it hits Law—a different kind of pain altogether—the pain of loss, the kind that chokes out vain and desperate hopes that it isn’t too late to change fate. Law’s almost forgotten how much more it hurts than physical pain. It’s too much, this anguish like a parasite that clings to his existence. It crawls deep inside him, and leaches into his heart, poisoning his newfound joy. Law wants to claw his chest open, cut out the pain, to leave it and lock it up somewhere he doesn’t have to face it or the truth. 

Luffy’s gone forever, gone to meet his end and there’s nothing he can do. 

Law presses his palms to his eyelids to banish the tears, the burning behind his eyes. 

He’ll never see Luffy again. Law won’t even give himself the hope that throwing the word ‘probably’ into that sentence will bring—he’ll absolutely never see him again. It’s not that Law doesn’t trust Luffy. It’s not that he doesn’t believe what he said. 

‘I will come back for you.’

Law is just very much aware that some things aren’t up to willpower or intention alone. 

It’s probably stupid to agonize over some dumbass little android in the first place. He’s being weird, he thinks, clinging to a person he barely knows. It’s just a reflex of his past trauma, he guesses, that he feels so attached to the first person in forever who’s shown him slightest bit of affection. But there’s _something_ in his heart that knows—intrinsically _knows_ that he isn’t into Luffy simply because Luffy likes him. He can think it over all he wants but he’ll never get the chance to let Luffy know his feelings even if he does define them. 

Law falls onto his back, watches dust particles rise from the old sofa, dancing, floating in the light of the projector. He sighs deep. It’s just unbelievably annoying—this helplessness. His inability to control a single thing in this world—it’s so fucking annoying. 

Attempting to chase after Luffy is an option. He does know where Luffy is going, but even if he does get there before it’s too late, it’s not like he would be able to save him. He has improved health, not superpowers. 

Law chuckles at the bittersweet thought of dying with him, but somehow he can imagine a disgruntled look on Luffy’s face if he finds out Law is thinking such things. Dying together doesn’t exactly feel ideal to Law either. It’s oddly startling to realize that he doesn’t actually want to die—at least not anymore. But he doesn’t want to be without Luffy either. 

Law pulls himself up from the sofa. Dizziness floods through him, his vision blinking black. He grasps onto the back of the sofa, sinking back down into the cushions. He forces himself to focus on his breathing. 

He gets up slowly the second time, unsure of what he should do with himself now. He doesn’t bother to gather up the discarded medical supplies at his feet or clean the blood splattered there. He makes for the back of the theatre and flips off the projector before he heads out of the room.

Footfalls rise to Law’s ears, echo down the corridor, accompanied by foreign voices—Law counts four, maybe five of them. Goddamn, if people could just stay out of his home that would be fucking lovely. Today of all days he just wants to be alone with his misery, maybe commiserate on it with one of those bottles of booze left in his kitchen. 

Law ducks into the bedroom corridor walking as quietly as he can. He listens behind him for voices, for any change in distance. He creeps as stealthily as he can to his room, thankful it’s at the end of the hall. He hopes nobody will catch the creaking of the old door as he inches it open just enough to slip inside.

Law steps purposely up onto his bed, reaches up to take down his sword—the long, powerful nodachi passed through his family for centuries. He had liked to imagine his ancestor standing ready with it on a battlefield, prepared to die for his honour, vivid as a scene in a film. Cue battle montage. Cue cries of poor bastards slicing into each other. But Law won’t die today if he can help it. He can’t let Luffy’s efforts bettering him go to waste. 

Dizziness hits him again when he steps down from the bed. He stumbles, his vision gone spotty, thrusting out his hand to get a hold on something solid. His hand misses the door, arm scraping against its frame as he falls into the half-open door with a loud thud. 

Law freezes, prays that nobody will come to investigate the sound. He takes a moment to blink away his clouded vision. 

He sneaks back down the corridor, turns into the main hallway testing his ears for the direction of the intruders. 

A voice carries down the hall—a feminine voice. It’s not clear what they’re saying but it sounds like it’s coming from the direction of the kitchen. He just hopes it’s not just his imagination messing with him when he catches the word ‘Luffy’. 

Law inches closer toward the sound, wonders what the fuck it is with intruders taking up space in his kitchen lately. 

“There’s no mistaking it,” another voice says, more masculine, slightly nasal. “It’s the tracking chip we put in Luffy’s chest.”

It must be one of the pieces that fell out when Luffy nearly disemboweled himself. And if they put it in there they must have built him. There’s a high chance these people could be his crew or his creators—possibly both. 

“But why would it be here?” Another asks, “Does Luffy even know he’s been made into a cyborg?”

“I don’t know. He just went crazy and stormed off when he woke up. He wouldn’t listen to me at all,” says a higher voice—maybe a young teenage male. It sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. 

So Luffy isn’t fully android after all. Law feels a cool shiver prickling under his skin, making his hairs stand on end. It’s all too unnerving to consider what the hell kind of trauma Luffy must have been through to leave the only option of saving him to be making him into a cyborg. It must have been some carnage, his organs torn up or failing. It must have been such a gruesome, bloody scene finding his body blown apart, not knowing if he was going to make it. 

Law can hear someone rummaging around in his cabinets, voices speculating what’s happened to Luffy.

If Luffy’s actually a cyborg, then the attack he described the night before must have been far, far worse than his casual words conveyed. It’s even possible that he’d lost consciousness—that he doesn’t even know what all transpired—that his brother may not have made it. It’s nevertheless chilling to think of the way Luffy simply, albeit a bit angrily discussed the events that happened to him and his brother. 

Law wants to say something—to act before the initiative to do so is out of his hands. But he’s too nervous to know what he should say. What’s the best way to approach these intruders. Goddamnit, he almost misses feeling too sick to value his life. 

“Hey, you in the kitchen,” Law speaks loudly before he loses what little courage he’s got, his voice carrying assuredness that he sure as fuck doesn’t feel. “You looking for Luffy?”

The room goes quiet, tension sliding in between him and them, cut only when a rough male voice starts, “Who the hell-“ 

“I’m Law by the way,” he interrupts. “Who the hell are you?” He gives them no time to think before he pushes through the doorway, scowl on his lips, nodachi resting with confident nonchalance against his shoulder. “And what are you doing in my home?”

“I think the more pressing matter, at least to us,” prefaces a tall woman, cool in demeanor, “is what Luffy was doing in your home.” She brushes her long dark hair over her shoulder with one of six arms. 

“We’re his crew,” clarifies a teenager with fluffy brown hair and antlers. The youth stares at him, wide-eyed, perched on one of his kitchen chairs. 

Luffy hadn’t mentioned having mutants on his crew. 

Law looks around, takes in the assembly of people in his kitchen before answering. He ought to be careful what he says—careful not to reveal too much just in case they’re not who they seem. There’s a man with a long nose crouching on the floor, Luffy’s innards in his hands, another paying him no mind as he indulges in the booze left by Kid’s crew, one hand resting on the hilts of three swords. 

“We’re worried about him,” another woman says, taking a step forward, the metallic clunk of a cybernetic foot against the floor, “We found his tracking chip here and we need to know what happened to him.” She gestures with her cybernetic arm at the long-nosed man who holds up the chip like it’s evidence. A cyborg woman—Luffy had at least mentioned such a person. 

“Luffy-“ Law’s not really sure how much he should say. He leans his nodachi against the wall next to the door in a gesture of offering mutual trust which he hopes they take note of. “He stayed the night here, but he’s gone now.” 

‘Gone forever,’ Law thinks again, heart clenching in his chest, stomach dropping like a pit. 

It feels too awkward to think of telling them about Luffy processing his blood and in a way it feels far too intimate than he’d like to divulge. Their eyes are still on him like they’re waiting for him to say more. “He doesn’t know the full truth. Thinks he’s an android,” Law adds.

A litany of questions pour over him, none of which he wants to pay any mind to. All Law can do is think of how Luffy’s gone. He’s gone and he’s never coming back and Law probably didn’t try hard enough to stop him. Law owes him so much—owes him his life—his new chance at life when all he’d had was hope of dying without too much agony. Law had _wanted_ to die when Luffy came along. But Luffy had demanded with conviction that he help to try and save his life despite barely knowing him at all. Luffy gave him life and he did little to nothing to stop Luffy from throwing his own life away. 

Law could’ve done something this time—could’ve tried harder to make a better plan or to keep Luffy from leaving alone. 

Luffy didn’t deserve to die. Neither did Lamie for that matter. Neither did his parents or anyone else from his community. There was nothing Law could’ve done back then—back when he was young and naïve and everyone was dropping dead. 

But Law can’t—he just can’t do nothing this time. 

“Look, he went to take on Blackbeard and he may very well be dead already,” Law cuts in, his tone deep and commanding, shouting over everyone, ignoring anything anyone’s been trying to ask him. “But it might not be too late.” 

He snatches the bottle of booze out of the swordsman’s hand, disregarding the murderous glare it earns him and grabs up a kitchen towel stuffing in down into the opening. He grabs up the second bottle left behind and does the same. His fingers feel for the lighter in his pocket, hoping movies have schooled him well enough on improvised incendiaries. 

He turns to the group, faux-confident smirk on his face when he says, “Now let’s go see if we can save Luffy.”

Law feels the inevitability of reality weighing on him, tension like a premonition come to warn him that he’ll only find death, but he’s got to challenge it nonetheless. He’s glad at least, that Luffy’s crew has got a vehicle to help them close the gap between his bunker and the compound—some kind of solar-powered jeep. It’s engine hums quiet as they drive, and it seems that now nobody else has much to say either to cut the strained silence between them. 

The scent of smoke, of chemicals burning acrid in the wasteland heat wafts out to greet them as they round the dune that brings the fenced-in compound into view. Noxious black smoke billows out from a small set of buildings on the property, their window’s cracked glass alight from the fire inside. There should be voices shouting to one another, some sign of an effort to put out the fire but there’s no evidence of human life. There’s only the crackling of the fire, creaking of the structures about to give in and collapse into themselves. 

Law bails from the jeep to the sound of the long-nosed man blasting the vehicle’s horn like a war-cry behind him. He’s followed at the heels by the mutant woman, the swordsman rushing out ahead of him. 

Law leaves his crudely put together incendiaries in the jeep in his haste to make it to the compound. He wouldn’t have needed them anyway. They’d just add fuel to the fire at this point, make it harder to find Luffy. 

He’s nearly at the outer fence when the wind shifts, covers him in a fog of smoke. It’s suffocating. The fumes sting his eyes and burn in his lungs but he pushes himself forward, holds hands out to grasp for the fence when something catches his fingers. Startled, he jerks his hand back on reflex, pulling along something heavy—something hidden by the chemical smog. It falls onto him, forcing him to the ground. 

Law hits the ground hard, gasping for breath, the air knocked from his lungs. The the ground is clearer, smoke levitating into the atmosphere above him, but his still eyes water from the smoke so badly it’s hard to see and he still can’t breathe. He’s too weighted down. Law can’t let this stop him. He has to get to Luffy. He has to find him, to save him before it really is too late. It already might be, but he has to at least put all he’s got into finding him. 

“Traffy!”

He thinks he hears Luffy’s voice, though it might be his subconscious trying to remind him why he’s here, to urge him to keep going. His head feels as clouded as the sky above looks, but he can’t quit now. He has to find Luffy. Summoning all his strength, he shoves the weight from his chest. 

“Traffy, what the hell?” 

“Luffy?” 

“Why’d you push me away?” Luffy asks from beside him mouth twisted into a frown. 

“Why’d you have to lay on top of me?” Law counters. “Fuck, You're heavy. Thought you were a chunk of wall or something.” 

“I was just excited to see you,” Luffy says, indignat pout on his lips. “I wanted to hug you.” 

“Sorry if I’m not too enthusiastic about cuddling in a war zone,” Law remarks. 

“It’s not a war zone,” Luffy refutes casually. “There was just an explosion.” He gets up, doesn’t even bother to dust off the dirt clinging to his clothes. “I only came out ‘cause heard someone blowing the horn. Did you bring my crew?” 

“Yeah. We should probably get out of here,” Law suggests, pulling himself up, and this time when a wave of dizziness hits him, Luffy’s right there to catch him. 

“Why’d you come here anyway? I told you I’d come back for you,” Luffy reminds him. 

“I was worried about you,” Law confesses, but doesn’t dare say more. He doesn’t quite know how much he wants to divulge about his anxiety over Luffy’s wellbeing. His worries almost feel silly now that he knows Luffy is alive and well. So instead he asks “Did you get the information you were looking for?” 

“No,” Luffy says, “but I know Ace is out there somewhere and we’re gonna find him.” 

In the past Law would have thought such blind hope was a ridiculous notion—that miracles were a lie and trying to challenge the inevitable was futile. However, he couldn’t deny that there was something different about Luffy. After all Law had seen, he had to believe Luffy was right. Luffy seemed to make miracles a reality and he wanted to be right by his side to see it happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —————
> 
> Thanks so much to MarieMicheals, Shishiswordsman and V. I really couldn’t have made this nearly as compelling or complete without your betaing, input and support. 
> 
> Thanks a bunch too to mushroom-san and shishiswordsman for creating amazing artworks as companion pieces for this fic. I’m so honoured to have worked with you both for the LawLu Big Bang. 
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who has read and supported this fic!! I hope it was a good read for you!!
> 
> —————
> 
> I have been working on writing Luffy’s story in this au, and also a bit about Law’s time as a teenager wandering the wasteland. 
> 
> I might share those in the future if anyone is interested in reading them.


End file.
